Dilemma
by DreamOrNightmare
Summary: Donnie has to babysit Mikey, and Mikey isn't planning on letting him take it easy. Donnie/Mikey fluff.


**AN: **My gosh, I love the new Ninja Turtle show, it's so awesome! :D I especially like the way Nick made Donnie. His voice…. and the gap in his teeth….

SO FAHKING CUTE.

Like what the heck? Did they deliberately make him this cute for fangirl candy? I'm so stupid for asking these questions, of course they did! That's how they reel us, fangirls in…. with cute nerdy turtles with adorable high voices and gaps in their teeth…. -_-'

Anyways, just some Donnie and Mikey fluff, because I love how their personalities clash and yet they're almost always together, like yen and yang, sun and moon, and whatever poop.

Enjoy the word vomit! ;D

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An irked sigh seeped from Donatello, his eyes pasted on the gleaming computer screen. Bored out of his mind, he had to find something to do in this shabby dwelling. It annoyed him to know that he was always chosen to _babysit_.

While his brothers were out there fighting criminals, he was stuck indoors—technically in a sewer, he corrected himself, nevertheless it still wasn't fair. He inclined in his chair, absentmindedly propping a pencil in his mouth. He was trying to figure out the basics of the 'internet,' what the norms called it. Even with his lofty intellect, he couldn't wrap his mind around it—well, at least, not all of it.

It was difficult attempting to catch an internet signal when he was more than a dozen stories underneath New York. He tightened his jaw, fighting the urge bash the keyboard with his fist. Violence isn't the solution to everything, he persuaded himself. Besides, getting worked up over a laptop was just silly, and immature.

His eyes brighten when he noted the broadband connection was beginning to grasp a bar. _Please_, he prayed, _just one bar. _He leaned forward in eagerness, his face inches away from the monitor.

"Hey, Don! What 'cha doing?"

A loud shriek sent Donnie jumping, his face slamming into the computer.

Frowning, he turned to face his intruder. The intruder no other his little brother. The last skirmish they had with a couple of street thugs left Mikey with a sprained ankle. It hadn't surprised Don though, as reckless as he was. Sighing, he realized that he's been doing that quite often now, he rubbed his face. Nothing appeared injured. After his analysis, he, unwillingly, swiveled his attention to his younger comrade.

His brown eyes tightened on Michelangelo knowingly. "Since you asked, I'm trying to acquire signal to this computer, but as of now, my effort hasn't had any beneficial results."

If life were a comic book, he could have sworn he saw a question mark flash on Mike's forehead.

He watched the orange turtle intently as he shuffled into his room, and sat on his chair, on the _same _chair. "O_ooooooo_h," he crooned, "Donnie's using smart words."

Flustering, Donatello scowled. "H-Hey, get off me!" His attempts to shove his sibling off his lap went by disregarded. It wasn't comfortable experience either; especially since Mike's hard outer shell was impaling him in the eye.

"It can't be _that_ hard to get that internet thingy to work," Mike snorted. Nervously, Don glanced over his brother's shoulder, only for Mikey to elbow him.

A few seconds later, he heard a frustrated groan emitted from Mikey. "Um, what does a blue screen on a computer mean?"

"It means the computer crashed," he griped, finally working up the strength to push Mikey's dead weight off him. He sealed the laptop shut, and slackened his shoulders, sprawling himself on the desk. Fighting crime was overly bearing, but looking after a brother's mishaps was emotionally draining.

"Sorry, bro." Mike squeaked.

He gathered his composure, and observed the smaller turtle wearily. "What do you need, Mikey?" He gritted out through a taut jaw.

"I was little hungry and I was—"

"There's pizza in the fridge, just heat it in the microwave," Don cut him short, turning his eyes back to his valuable device.

He hesitated. "Well, I've been eating pizza a lot, and I remember you saying pizza isn't very healthy… and my ankle hurts…" Mikey began to trail off, tapping a finger nonchalantly on his chin.

Donnie's shoulders hunched, his eyes wandered to the edge of his desk. "What are you trying to say?"

His next response came out as a garbled thread of words. "Maybe, you can make me something? Maybe?" He mumbled hastily, tentative of Donnie's reaction.

There was a moment of silence and deliberation before Don finally mustered up an answer. "If I do it, will you leave me alone?"

His blue eyes lit up. "Yeah!"

Muttering a few words Mikey couldn't understand, Donnie stood from his chair, and ambled to the kitchen, with his younger brother trailing behind.

Don's eyes roamed around the somewhat vacant kitchen—feeling of desolation stronger without having two more brothers to disturb the stillness, he scratched his head. "So what do you want to eat?"

Mikey nodded, rummaging through the cabinets until he recovered gleaming, silver cylinder. His eyes glittered, a clumsy smile taking up most of his face. "How about this, Donnie?" He waved the container in front of his face.

He raised a brow. "You can't make yourself a can of soup?" He deadpanned.

Embarrassed, Mike's smile broadened. "I don't know how to open the can…"

Heaving a dragging breath, Donatello ducked his head to look for a can opener.

"You see this?" Don signaled to the can opener in his hand.

Grinning, Mikey bobbled his head.

"First, you place this convenient contraption on top of the can," he demonstrated, Michelangelo eagerly watching in apprehension. "Then, you pull the handle on the can opener, and you keep on pulling until you see the top of the can pop open," he finished, gazing at the condensed chicken soup brimming the canister.

"Isn't that hard, right?" He glanced at his orange-cladded brother.

Heavy-eyed, Mike jolted when he noticed his solemn stare. "Uh, yeah, totally not hard."

"You weren't paying attention."

He smiled sheepishly. "Nope."

"Well, I shouldn't expect you too." He murmured, pouring the soup into a bowl and plopping it into the microwave.

He spun around to slither back to his room, when he felt Mikey's hand tug lightly on his wrist. Reeling his gaze back to his little brother, he studied him, reddish brown eyes perplexed. "Aren't you going to eat with me—or, or," he stammered, "at least stay with me until I'm done?" Mike whined, his voice no more than a timid whimper.

Don knitted his brows, the purple cloth around his eyes creasing. "You said you'll leave me alone if I feed you. I did my end of the bargain, now you do yours."

Blue eyes wilting, Michelangelo pouted. "B-b-but Don—"

"No but's, Mikey! No's no, and that's final." He inserted firmly, folding his arms.

"D_ooooooo_nnie," his little brother begged.

"No." There was no way nothing was going to change his decision. His mind was made, whether Mikey liked it or not.

"P_uhw_ease?" Mikey pleaded, clutching to his arm, snuggling his face on Don's shoulder.

He frowned, struggling to pry Mike's grip on his arm. "Mike, s-stop acting like a child."

Immediately, Mikey discerned the falter in his voice, and worn his best puppy dog face. "P_uhweeeeeeeee_ase?"

"N-no, Mikey. I-I said no," he retorted, cringing.

If possible, his blue eyes grew wider. "P_uhweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_—"

"Okay, okay!" Donnie yelled, covering his head. "Just shut up with that!"

Mikey grinned in mute triumph, and hobbled to the table. No later did the microwave ring. Inhaling, Donnie rested against a wall, pondering when his brother would grow up. It's not that he wasn't fond of him, he loved him regardless—just that certain aspects of his personality annoyed him.

"D_ooo_nnie boy, aren't cha' gonna get me my food for me? Sprained ankle, _remember_? Geez, with your brains, I'd thought you'd remember."

He glowered at the juvenile turtle. _Immensely. _

Marching to the microwave with a peeved look on his face, he punched a green finger on one of its buttons, the microwave door automatically opening. He was caught off guard by how hot the bowl was, and almost spilled it all over him. Good thing his quick reflexes kicked in and prevented him from doing so, or else that be just another mess for Donatello to clean up. Grudgingly, he slogged back to Mikey.

The younger turtle, on the hand, in much chirpier mood, grinned widely at the steaming orange (coincidental?) bowl. Don lolled the bowl roughly in front of his vivid face. "Eat it," he grunted.

He slumped on the chair nearest to Mikey, his body withering on the first moment of rest. Always so absorbed in his duties, rest was never raised to his mind. But whenever his body had a chance to, it would deflate, like a balloon deprived of air. He never realized just how deadbeat he was until his physical form was at its dying breath, no longer putting up with him, flopping on the couch instead of doing something practical like working the kinks of his latest gadgets , or brawling bad guys.

Like right now—he could be out there, with Leo and Ralph, doing something productive.

"I'm sorry," he heard Michelangelo gibbered, his words barely distinguishable when he was slurping soup in the process.

Don examined him in slight revulsion as he tipped his head to scarf down the remnants of the canned soup. "Manners, Mikey," he insisted, offering him a spoon.

"Thanks, bro." He wasn't used to eating as civilized as Donnie was, but he'd do anything to keep the purple turtle pleased.

"And don't worry about the computer, I'll just fix it later," Don added, his voice collected as he flashed Mike his doting smile, the gap in the middle of his teeth somewhat of an offbeat trademark.

Mikey kept his eyes on his bowl, the pool of soup growing cold. "I-I don't mean about that—even though I am sorry about that too."

Don tilted his head, the tail of his purple band swaying in the opposite direction. "Then what do you mean?"

"I-I mean that Leo and Ralph stopped you from going to the surface because of me. I know that you wanted to go, but I…" His words began to dissolve, his voice choking.

His brown eyes softened on the crumbled form of his brother. How _mercenary _he had been, to only think of himself, without once regarding Michelangelo's condition. It wasn't his error that he injured himself. He should have been more attentive of Mikey, instead of contemplating if his staff was beginning to chip, or if Raphael was going to hog the radio again. His brother's welfare should have been considered first—not just Mikey, but all his brothers, as tacky as it sounded.

Don lounged an arm over his shoulders, and pulled him close. "There's nowhere else I rather be than be here… with you."

"Seriously?" Mikey cocked his head, glancing up at his older brother, his naïve blue eyes wide and probing.

"Mhmm."

"So I can use the laptop once you fix it?"

Donnie chuckled, his clasp on the hopeful turtle turning a little too threatening for comfort. "Don't push it, _baby _brother."

* * *

**AN: **I'm sorry for the terribly cheesy ending or if some words sounded sketchy, I wrote this quickly while I watching the show, just wanna show my turtle love, ya' know. ;3

Reviews are love! :]


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